Parturition
Written by Sarah Ives Taylor on Sunday the 23rd of September 2012
Parturition, inexorable horses.
The suture. Cantered, tripartite hoof-taps
that
spiral away like
inebriated
sense.
Who is this you, parturited
in blood, feaces,
mucus?
are you familiar,
ready-scribed Gospel verse?
if i read you, would you resume, well-trod prose?
Would the closed prose hold?
In the dumb spastic day-end
would we meet,
you and I?